


Bloodshot Eyes

by Oienel



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: When both of you aren't exactly happy with your working progress.





	Bloodshot Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> It's an old thing that I wrote two years ago, when I was still writing mostly for Kai. It was written without any name mentioned, so that could be an optional bias, but I am going to stay true to myself - and back when I writing I was thinking of him.

The sound of keys is startling. Not because it’s unexpected, but because you didn’t notice how the time slipped through your fingers today and you didn’t realize that it’s time for him to come home. You look around and see papers covering every flat surface in your nearest proximity. Your deadline is coming and your anxiety is acting up and yet you couldn’t muster up enough will to get on with your thesis.

You hear hustling in the hall and you can pinpoint exact moment when he takes off his shoes, how he misses the hanger when he tries to hang his coat, how he throws his keys into the bowl on the counter and they jingle in protest. You know he is dead tired: not only you can hear it in his movements – slow and mopey, but he told you that their preparation for comeback is not going as smoothly as planned.

You can hear him moving down the hall, but you can’t get yourself to move from your seat at the desk. Maybe because you spend all day in this chair,  fighting with an author’s block. You spent 5 years studying the subject. You love it. You savored every step, every class, every page you read, and yet now you can’t write a paragraph on it without getting a mental breakdown.

As he enters the room, you take a sip of your long forgotten tea – not even lukewarm at this point. Neither of you acknowledges the other verbally, but you can feel ghost of his fingers on your nape as he passes by your chair. From the sounds behind you, you can tell that he moved some of your papers so he can slump on the couch. He sighs.

That sound sends a jolt of anger down your spine. Normally you would shuffle to his side and try to cheer him up, be as supportive as you can be. He is your man, you love him, and you don’t want to see him suffer. But today you just can’t. You get it. He has a hard time, but what about you?

You don’t move staring unseeingly ahead, trying to contain your feelings. Neither of you have time nor emotional strength left for a quarrel.

It feels like eternity before he sighs again and gets up, couch creaking.

You can hear his soft steps, and you can easily see his walk in your mind: smooth movements distinguishing a dancer among a crowd. His step falters right behind you, but he doesn’t say a word. He sighs yet again, and it drives you furious, tickling the ire that sat in you all day.

You finally look at him, and despite your rage you are captivated by him. He doesn’t look as good as usual – he is slouched from fatigue, his hair looks wilted. But his shoulders are broad, and you can see shape of his muscles under his shirt – they are more defined than usually – he’s been working out for the comeback. Your eyes drop to his hips, and again you find yourself hypnotized by their slight sway.

He reaches the door, and before you know it, you are outside the room. With his back on the wall, your hands clenched in fists on his shirt, and for the first time today you look him in the eyes.

You are close enough to see his skin imperfections and bloodshot eyes. He has minute wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and the bags under – telltale signs of his bone-crushing weariness. To say the truth he doesn’t look good.

Maybe that’s why you stop in your tracks. You didn’t know exactly what were you going to do, but now you are standing there, keeping him at the wall (not literally – if he wanted, he could easily get himself free) and looking into his dark eyes. He obviously wait for you to do something, since it’s your outburst that got you there. You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out. You lowkey are irritated by the fact that you can’t read his eyes, while yours are an open book. Not because of romantic ‘I know you, and I can easily read your face’ thing, but because while his iris and pupil both sport an exquisite color of dark chocolate, your iris is definitely paler than your pupil. He can easily say when you see something you like, because your pupil grows in diameter, and in turn you can only guess.

You open your mouth once again, and tentatively stand on your tip-toes. You can feel your chest heaving with breath more labored than your sedentary day would allow. You catch his lower lip between your teeth and pull slightly. You freeze there, feeling how arousal hits you in hot waves. You look up again to look him in the eyes, not wanting to hear that he is too tired today, that he has to wake up early, or whatever reason he might use to refuse you.

But he doesn’t. And at the same time he doesn’t give you a sign to continue either. It’s like he still hasn’t decided.

So you free his lip and scrape your teeth along his jaw. Your hand comes up to his shoulder to provide support as you nip at his neck. You don’t ‘attack with a full force’,  your touches are light, nearly not there.

He lets out a slow, meticulous huff of air and you come back up and look him in the eyes again. You feel that he is on the verge and now you feel playful. You open slightly you mouth and slowly move in for a kiss, but never really reaching goal, as you come close you stop and retreat slightly trying to get him to follow you.

And he does.

His arms hanging at his sides motionless up this point, go up and around you, and he brings you close and flush against him. One of his hands rests on your lower back and the other tangles in your hair, and finally he kisses you. His smell is incapacitating, even though you can tell he didn’t shower after his practice. And maybe that’s the trigger that wakes primal needs in you.

He kisses like he moves, smoothly and languidly and you think that he teases you. That he knows that you’d like to go fast and hard, so he takes his time reacquainting himself with your lips, while his thumbs draw soothing patterns on your lower back and scalp.

You don’t feel soothed at all.

You finally let go of his shirt, and your now free hand comes up scrapes at his nape. But when your chest flushed at his isn’t speeding him up, you get frustrated and start to claw at the back of his shirt and get down on your feet to strip him from it. That startles him enough to break the kiss, and you are free to get the shirt out of your sight.

You would love to be able to say that he has a chocolate abs. He doesn’t. When he is performing and his shirt rides up and the fans scream… It’s not enough to get you screaming.

Thankfully he has more tricks up his sleeve.

You let your hands ride up from the line of his pants, up to his shoulders, savoring smooth skin under your touch and you smile at him as your hands slide back down. You know that his hands are coming up to get you back into languid kiss, but you don’t have patience left, so as one of your hands stops at his hip the other one slips into his pants and gives him one downward stroke.

Only one, because you don’t have time to do more, as your actions finally have him picking up the pace.

You think you catch the moment in which he considers carrying you to the bed. Of course that would be nice, but he is tired, and you are too riled up to wait any longer, so you take his hand and start to back both of you up into the room you left.

He quickly follows, but doesn’t help in the process of finding comfortable surface you could use, as he tries to get you naked as quickly as possible. As he strips you of your shirt, your ears catching in the process. He does speedy work on your bra, and you thank god that he learned that skill.

But then you are half of meter shy of the couch and he decides that he can’t wait anymore and he gets down to his knees bringing with him your sweatpants and panties, and before you know he has his head buried between your legs.

That gets you to scream.

Both from the pleasure he brings you while sucking at your clitoris, and from the frustration: just behind you is a couch. Perfectly fine couch you could use to screw your man, but no, he wants to have you in the middle of the room, standing, with legs trapped in your own sweatpants.

He tongues at your clitoris, while one of his hand claws at your thigh more to anchor him than to help you stand, and the other one is hidden to your senses until you feel a finger sliding into you.

Your knees go weak, and you hunch over him, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, because it’s not easy to stand in such precarious situation.

He knows what he is doing. Alternating between sucking and licking and nibbling at your clitoris, and feeling insides of your vagina. Before you know it, second finger is in and they crook at your front wall.

You keen highly in your throat and he pulls back to look at you. He has a wicked grin on his face and his mouth and chin are glistening from your liquids. He licks his lips and you nearly scream at him. He tries to get back between your legs, but you drop to your knees as well, and open his fly. Again you get one touch at his penis, before he hauls your ass to the couch (finally) and your papers go flying.

And now you are annoyed and aroused out of your mind, and he knows it. He knows it all too well.  It bothers you how could you though you can start this and not get your research thrown everywhere haphazardly.

You are laying down on a couch, one of your legs is still caught in your sweatpants. The stack of papers on the armrest is shaking threateningly above your head, you think that there is a pencil under your back, but he is finally naked so you don’t care. You bring him down to you, and he loses his balance and another stack of papers fall to the ground, and he supports himself with a hand right next to your head right in time to prevent head butting you. Normally you would laugh your ass off, but now his penis is hard and pocking at your thigh and you know where your priorities are, so you grab him, and guide to your labia. You briefly think about a condom, but you are on your pills, and anyway, you couldn’t wait that long. He kisses you as he enters, and your legs come up to close at his waist.

It’s great. He is inside of you, he kisses you, you can feel his chest on yours, your arms are on his neck, and everything would be in its rightful place if he moved.

You break the kiss to say something, to urge him, and you find him staring at you, laughing, and you can see that he is not tired anymore.

That is the moment, when you decide that you hate him. You claw at his nape, and you clench your pelvic floor muscles, just to get him to move. You buck at him, and it gets him to do something.

He supports his weight with arms at both sides of your head, and he starts leisurely rhythm. He slowly withdraws and slowly enters. You are caged between him and the couch and can’t really find leverage to try to move at your preferred speed.

But then he proves you and you don’t hate him.

‘So, how was your day?’ He asks and this time, you do scream.

You don’t just hate him. You despise him with every cell of your body.

‘Sounds frustrating. It’s the thesis, right? When is your deadline?’ You get him down to you to kiss him, so he can’t irritate you even further. You are strung, you could see your fulfillment coming, and he goes for a leisure ride. You bite his lover lip in retaliation.

You don’t let go of it. Looking in his eyes you suck it into your mouth and scratch down his spine, he freezes and you start to panic. But then he kisses you, gets on his knees, and finally, finally, starts fucking you in earnest.

You moan, and grab his hair, not really caring that they would benefit from shampoo right now. Your other hand is clenching on his arm, and you feel its strain as he supports himself over you and your mouth water. His hand tangle into your hair and he looks at you while he fucks you, and its mesmerizing. His breaths are heavy and his mouth is open so you can feel his pants on your mouth. Neither of you has enough breath left to kiss, but this is more intimate. You can see when his eyes are starting to go out of focus and you know he is close.

He shifts his balance so he can free one of his arms and stimulate your clitoris, and you are gone.

You are moaning, you are nearly screaming, but you can still hear him moan your name as reaches his goal, too.

You go boneless and he follows your suit falling on top of you. This punches air out of your lungs, but you can only muster up enough strength to slap him in the arm. He laughs in your neck and mumbles something. You are still annoyed, but at the same time you are content. You hug him closer, and you can feel him kissing your neck.

You will arrange your papers tomorrow. Or maybe even you’ll get him to help.


End file.
